


Just Between Us

by iamee



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Catholic School, Confessions, Confusion, Fantasizing, First Love, Frottage, Guilt, Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamee/pseuds/iamee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a Kink Meme prompt way way back in the days of TSN: </p><p>Mark goes to Catholic school and likes to hide in the chapel confessional with a book to avoid his classmates. Some day Eduardo comes into the booth, starting to confess the fantasies he's been having about the other boys. Especially the quiet one, with the curly hair, who sits in English Literature...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completely fictional stories about characters vaguely based on real people portrayed by actors in a movie (Yes, I'm as confused as you are). None of this is true or means to offend anyone. 
> 
> For the purpose of this story all characters described are of legal age.

**Just Between Us**

**1.**

He likes the chapel. He likes the quietness and the peace he feels when he shuts the door. He likes the way the light falls through the stained-glass windows, making islands of colour on the floor. He likes that it feels like he just needs to listen close enough to hear the stones around him telling, breathing out their stories, like he'd be in the middle of history, so far away from the world outside or maybe even in a time machine.

But what he likes the most – oddly enough – is the faint scent of dust and incense in the heavy curtains of the confessional. 

When Mark sits down on the wooden seat inside, books squeezed to his chest and waiting for his heartbeat to calm down again, he closes his eyes and just _breathes in_. Deeply and focused, shutting out the sunshine and the blue sky outside, even the rest of the chapel, pretending to be alone. 

He's not that shy boy anymore, always sitting in the back of every class. He's not the one who's standing in the hallway alone, feeling like running whenever he can hear the muffled laughter and sound of hasty steps on the upper floor. And he's not eating in the farthest corner of the dining hall, eyes glued to the tabletop and counting the seconds until he can get out of there.

Instead he's in the semi-darkness of the booth and he can start to breathe again, because nobody's going to find him. Nobody's going to throw his books to the ground and nobody's going to give him these looks in between taunt and pity.  
He's alone.  
Finally.

Except that he's not.

*

He's so absorbed in 'The Divine Comedy' that he actually flinches when the chapel's door snaps shut with a loud bang. After that he sits completely still with bated breath and fluttering pulse, praying that the other person will go away again. They all do eventually, don't they?

But this one seems to be particularly persistent.  
It's not like Mark can really hear what he (or she?) is doing out there, but he can almost _feel_ the presence of another individual and it awakens a strange anger inside of him that this somebody isn't aware that his presence is disturbing the peace of this place.

He frowns while he lifts up the book again. He's going to focus on the text and the other person will be gone in no time. Everything will be fine.

And then there are footsteps on the stones, echoing through the silence of the chapel and coming closer and the book almost slips out of his shaking fingers.  
 _Oh no no no no no..._

"He- hello?"

The curtain on the other side is opened and _somebody_ comes in, which is so not good and Mark can't do anything but staying right where he is even if his heart is racing again and his hands are still trembling. 

It appears that the other person is kneeling down, there is the rustling of clothes and then someone lets out a little sigh and it was definitely not Mark, so that is that.

"I'm sorry." The bodiless voice on the other side of the partition says quietly. "I'm a bit... confused, I guess. I didn't expect someone to be here at this time but then I saw that the curtain was closed and I just..." a deep breath and another sigh. "I just needed to talk to somebody. So... errm, bless me, father, for I have sinned."

Mark's fingers are gripping the book tightly enough to make his knuckles stick out whitely against the skin and he only realises he's breathing through his nose when the scent of soap and after-shave is taking over the dust.  
It's not that he has a problem with hygiene.  
It's just that he knows that smell.  
As well as that voice.

The space is dimmed beyond the grid and all that Mark can make out are little things. Slow movements, the tilting of a head, a flash of white fabric.  
But inside his mind he's forming a picture.

Dark hair, ridiculously neat.  
Warm eyes under equally dark brows.  
Tanned skin and long limbs. A skinny but muscular body wearing that stupid school uniform like it's high fashion.

Eduardo.

Of all things that could have happened, this is probably the worst.  
Suddenly the space inside the booth is a little bit too small to be comfortable and Mark is still inhaling not enough air but too much of Eduardo's scent.  
Eduardo, who's always the one to crack a joke in class even if it will get him a snub. (Never more than that, though. He's one of those students teachers won't give detention, because they're charming and intelligent after all and maybe just bored from time to time...)  
Eduardo, who smiled at him once in history class.  
Eduardo, who's beautiful and friends with everybody and just the kind of person Mark will never be and _no, he's not going there, he's not thinking about this and maybe this is not happening at all_...

Mark's tumbling thoughts are stopping long enough for him to get that Eduardo's talking again and there is something in his voice, a hoarse intensity that makes it hard to ignore his words.

"... but that's normal, right?" It looks like he's running his fingers through his hair and Mark finds himself staring, even if he can't see any details. "I mean... to watch other people, recognising their looks. It doesn't have to be something bad, does it?"

Mark has no idea what he's talking about, so he's shaking his head, despite the fact that Eduardo doesn't necessarily have to see him, but he keeps on talking anyway, seemingly encouraged by the silence.

"But lately it's not just that I see them, I kinda... get stuck." Mark closes his eyes, trying to calm down by telling himself that it'll be over soon, that Eduardo will talk for a few minutes before he walks out. It's going to be fine.

"I look at them and I'm starting to think, I..." Eduardo stops and tries to find the right words. "No, not really _thinking_ , it's more like my mind is wandering off and there is nothing I can do about it. Just... fingers tapping on a desk or a strand of hair and I... it's like I'd be watching a movie, only that I'm in it and they're too." He's laughing a bit but it sounds more embarrassed than amused. "Yesterday, after lunch there was this guy... for some reason he kept smiling while he talked to me and there was something about the way his lips curved up and all I could think about was how it would feel like if those lips were pressed against the waistband of my pants, if he still were smiling when he would get down on his knees..."

The cover of the book is digging into Mark's thighs and his fingers ache a bit from holding so fast onto it, but he can't seem to let go.  
So Eduardo's talking about the other boys. But he's not actually saying what Mark believes he's saying, right?

"I..." Eduardo clears his throat and Mark breathes out, the first real noise he made in all these seconds, and it sounds way too loud to him, but Eduardo only reacts with more words. "I know I shouldn't, I know I should be stronger than that, but I can't help it. The more I try to ignore these images, the more they struggle to emerge." He pauses and Mark can almost see him biting down on his bottom lip, leaving a bruise in the soft flesh. "When it started, I pushed it away, told me it was nothing and would stop soon. But it only made things worse.  
We were writing this test in French and all of sudden the boy next to me stretched and there was this little flash of skin between his shirt and his pants and that did it for me..." Mark's eyes are open again, searching the shadows for every of Eduardo's movements. "I had to make up an excuse, pretending I wasn't feeling well, so I could jerk off in the nearest stall before someone would notice..." he's laughing again and Mark thinks that this is maybe his way of getting rid of the tension, but it's this deep, vibrating sound at the back of his throat that makes Mark's stomach twist.

"This is crazy." More rustling when Eduardo shifts on his knees, causing Mark to press his lips together because _he's not thinking about this_ , not at all. "Every day I wake up scared that I'll be caught staring, that everybody can tell by a look on my face what I'm thinking and still I can't stop." He's breathing a bit harder or maybe Mark's imagining it. "I don't really want to stop but that's not what I'm supposed to do."

He's talking fast, just a little more than a whisper but for all Mark knows he could be screaming since his voice seems to be everywhere, filling the room inside the booth with pictures and words, so many words...

"I'm not supposed to think about pinning down one of my friends in the middle of a soccer game, burying my nose in the crook of his neck and moving against him on the field until my vision blurs and I can feel him thrusting up at me. I'm not supposed to fantasise about the things a random guy's tongue could do to my sanity..."

Mark's heart is pounding against his ribs, sending his blood rushing through his veins and he's thankful and angry about the grid at the same time. Thankful because it makes it impossible for Eduardo to see the flush on his face, the shaking fingers on his lap or the unsteady lifting and lowering of his chest. Angry because it keeps him from drinking in Eduardo's sight while he's talking like this. Almost feverish and a little bit broken, with eyes gone dark and drops of sweat forming on his forehead.  
Well, at least that's how he thinks he looks like right now...

"And I just..." Eduardo rasps. "I just want to drag one of them into the stall with me, so I don't have to be there on my own. I want to... kiss him long enough to make him gasp and moan my name when I bend down to lick that spot at his collarbone, shoving my hand under his shirt and make him squirm..."

There is no doubt what's pressing up against the book cover and normally Mark would be embarrassed (it's not that he isn't, because well... he is) but he can't really seem to care while listening to Eduardo's voice, even if this is so incredibly wrong on so many levels and he's not sure how he'll manage to leave that booth and look anybody in the eye, ever again.

"And his hips pushing against mine, so desperate for contact..." the following noise is most definitely a moan and Mark shivers so damn hard, this time the book slips from his hands and hits the floor with a smack, but Eduardo doesn't even notice. "So many clothes and fumbling fingers until I can wrap my fingers around his cock, feeling that he's already leaking, like I am... and his eyes go wide when his head sinks back against the wall..."

A stifled "Uh..." escapes Mark's throat and because his hands are free by now he presses the back of his wrist to his mouth to stop it.  
His cheeks are burning and the twisting of his stomach has become so painfully good, he doesn't know if he wants it to stop.

"I..." it sounds very much like Eduardo's licking his lips and Mark imitates the motion before he's even aware of it. "... want to bury my hand in these soft curls above his ears... just enough to keep him steady... keep him looking at me while I..." each pause is a little moan, even if he obviously tries to keep it down, but on the other hand Mark isn't sure if he's even aware that he's still talking. "...while I stroke him slowly from the base up to the tip... taking my... _uhm_... taking my time, because I've been waiting for this..."

Maybe Mark has been successful in convincing himself that this is just talk, but not anymore. He can _hear_ fingers moving sloppily over the thick fabric of their uniforms and Eduardo's head is lowered and so close, he's almost leaning his forehead against the grid while he's touching himself and _oh_...

"I can tell he's close and... _shit_... his mouth so red and swollen... mine..." Mark has no idea if Eduardo's doing this on purpose, his voice is husky and the way he's palming himself through the cloth is a bit too shaky to be entirely conscious. "I... I know he's not talking very much in class, but I know he'll sound so fucking beautiful when he..." he's sucking in the air, making Mark bite down on his wrist so he won't give himself away. "... coming just for me... looking at me under dark lashes with this ridiculously blue eyes, so damn innocent... like he does sometimes before he casts them down again..."

So when exactly did this become about a specific person? Not that Mark would mind, he's too far gone to feel bad about listening to Eduardo's rambling, but it's still interesting, isn't it?

" _Fuck_..." Eduardo mutters under his breath and he sounds very much like he's close enough to come here and now. Which wouldn't be good, because Mark couldn't possibly hold on any longer, he needs to breathe, to do something about all these feelings towering up in his chest, about the burning under his fingertips, _no screw that_ , everywhere, because he can't... he can't...

"Mark..."

It's only a soft whisper, kind of like an afterthought, but Mark freezes anyway. No, there is no way Eduardo knows it's him, right? There is just no...  
Which leaves only one other option...

Eduardo's fallen silent, except for his breaths, coming hard and fast and they're both remaining quiet in the darkness, lingering on the last spoken word, each one lost in their thoughts and then...

"I gotta go," he blurts, getting up quickly and for a moment Mark has a better look at him, all dark eyes and rumpled clothes, before he opens the curtain and leaves the booth, still murmuring apologies and promises.

The door snaps shut once more and Mark is alone, a suffocated moan on his lips and feeling like he could come without as much as touching himself.

Well, English Literature is going to be a lot more interesting...

**2.**

"Mark?"

Hands are placed on his desk, black hairs growing from above the knuckles up to the point where he sees them disappearing into the sleeve of the jacket, fingers tipping on the tabletop.

"Uh?"

Mark's shaking his head a little bit, trying to focus on the teacher's voice while he's repeating the question. For the umpteenth time probably but he still doesn't catch on to his words.  
Instead, his gaze is fixed on Eduardo's profile, under half-closed lids. The way he's chewing on his pen almost absent-mindedly, beams of sunlight dancing across his skin. His lashes seem to be just as soft as his dark hair and Mark's fingertips are tingling at the mere thought.  
He can't possibly listen or concentrate when the _want to touch_ keeps pushing the air out of his lungs and his cheeks feel like they'd be burning up from a fire inside his guts and so he presses his hands to the chair in an helpless effort to _make it stop_.

Fuck.

"Now, what do you think, Mark?" The teacher tilts his head, first to one side then to the other, frowning at the bright pupil in front of him and wondering what the hell has gotten into him. By now the majority of the class is waiting for Mark to finally give a response, so they can go on with their daily routine.  
They're used to him, used to his awkward silences. They know he wouldn't put his hand up by himself, but when he's been asked he's usually got the answer right away. All they have to do is to wait. Even if they've grown a bit tired of it over the years.

"I don't know." Mark says plainly and the impatient whispering behind his backs comes to a halt for a second.  
Then somebody laughs, the teacher turns around to admonish him and Mark has his peace again. Apart from the curious looks around him.

Eduardo has stopped chewing away on his pen and glances at him, for a moment their eyes meet and the world seems to slow down dangerously, blurring the lines between feverish whispering memories and the presence before Eduardo opens the book on his desk and starts to read.  
The whispering behind his back has started again.

And Mark can feel his mouth going dry.

*

He still doesn't remember how exactly he's got out of the chapel and back home. He thinks there might have been some running, the hard covers of books against his stomach, wind in his ears. The burning heat on his cheeks and the empty relief in his chest that his coat was wide enough to hide his embarrassing situation.  
He remembers _arriving_ at home, though.

He remembers flying up the stairs, locking himself in the bathroom and splashing handfuls of cold water onto his face. For a second it actually helped, before he looked up and saw himself, heated and wide-eyed in the mirror, dressed in that stupid uniform and he thought about Eduardo, wearing the same thing in some other room, probably as flushed as himself. About slender fingers buried in the fabric, pulling him closer. Groaning from soft lips. Hot skin. Whispering into his ear. And his name. His name all over again, after all these words about forbidden secrets and desires and that was the moment when he couldn't take it anymore, the damn hotness under his skin, the rush of blood in his ears and _oh oh_ Eduardo on his knees in the booth, biting down on his lip, touching, moaning... _oh_...  
He came quickly, almost surprised by his body's reaction, steadying himself on the sink and trying his best to stop the involuntary sounds that kept escaping his throat.

There wasn't much sleep that night.  
Just rolling over from one side to another, with his heart fluttering in his chest like a frightened bird. He went from shivering to kicking back the blanket every other minute and in the small hours, bathed in cold sweat, he began to wonder if he was getting truly sick. If this was some sort of punishment for not making the other boy aware of his mistake.  
Or maybe for being affected by his words so much. 

And just before the first sunlight crept into his rooms, finding him still awake and completely exhausted, he knew he had to do something about this.

*

Mark's hand is almost on the handle when the door is pushed open and two shouting boys are stumbling out into the hall, giving him a quick glance before they walk away, shoving each other and bubbling over with laughter.  
Just a few minutes left until the bell is going to ring and he still hasn't got a plan.  
He takes a deep breath and enters the bathroom.

The lamps above his head are flickering slightly, their bright neon light making him look even paler and more anxious. His eyes look incredibly huge and scared in the stained mirror.  
He shouldn't be here, it's all too obvious that this was a mistake and he almost breathes a sign of relief when he finds the place completely deserted.  
So maybe it wasn't Eduardo who stepped inside but somebody else and he's just mistaken because he was too far away. Or maybe because he's sleep-deprived and his imagination is already playing tricks on him. Whatever it was, it's probably for the best if he just leaves and stops thinking about the whole incident for good.

He's about to turn around when the last door on the left opens and Eduardo walks out, absorbed in thoughts for a split second before he becomes aware of him.

"Hi." There is the hint of a smile on his face while he heads towards the sink and turns on the water.

"Hello." Mark replies in a voice that barely resembles his own.

How could he think this would be a good idea? And what was he about to do anyway? Confront Eduardo about the whole thing? He should have realised that this isn't going to work out...

"Are you alright?" Mark looks up to find Eduardo gazing at him in the mirror. "You seemed a bit distracted in History."

"I- I'm fine." His words are almost drowned by the gurgling of the water.

Mark's heart is beating way too fast again and his lying must be quite obvious since Eduardo gives a ringing laugh when he grabs one of the paper towels and starts wiping his hands: "Are you sure? You look like you haven't slept for a week straight."

"That's just because I had no time to put on any make-up today." Mark mutters and bites down on his lip immediately.

It happens, sometimes. That his mouth is working even faster than his brain and then usually he ends up saying something totally inappropriate and people will give him funny looks. Always.  
But Eduardo just cocks his head and laughs like this would be one of the funniest things he's ever heard.

"That would explain so much if it wouldn't raise such a host of questions." Eduardo grins and turns to face him. "Don't look at me like that, I'm not making fun of you, I swear."

Mark shrugs: "I should be used to it by now."

Shit. Shit, he didn't mean to say that. He didn't mean to talk at all. Not about stuff like that, not to Eduardo. He's losing control over the situation and it makes his stomach drop when the other boy steps forward, closing the distance between them a little more.

"I know." Eduardo says, suddenly serious, eyes swaying over Mark's features. "Most people are idiots."

He seems to realise that he's making Mark uncomfortable, because he's standing still again.

"They're your friends."

"Friends." Eduardo's slowly shaking his head. "I suppose they are, but still... they shouldn't taunt people." Mark can almost feel his glance. "They shouldn't taunt _you_."

Mark knows he's staring at him, but he just can't help it. Why is it so easy for Eduardo to say things like that? Why is it so easy for him to stay here and talk to him after what happened in the booth yesterday? Mark would _die_ if he were him. Having said all these fantasies out loud and now talking to the person... well, maybe it wasn't about him after all. Maybe he was talking about another Mark and he got everything wrong from the very start.  
The thought is making him feel stupid. And slightly sick.

"Mark?" Even if there's still more than a hand's with of air between them, Eduardo is way too close and why on earth is he whispering his name again... "You just went a bit green." He says, watching him carefully. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I..." Mark's mind is sort of stupidly blank whenever he's near enough to smell Eduardo and this time is nothing different from any other. "... there's something I should..."

He's got no chance to say it, anyway because Eduardo chooses exactly that moment to make a weird noise, grab his sleeve and pull him into the first stall. Everything happens so fast that he hasn't even time to panic. Mark's brain is still busy with the task of figuring out why he's almost slammed to a wall and why Eduardo's fingers are fumbling with the lock when he hears the door to the hallway open and a voice roaring into the sudden silence of the bathroom.

"Hello? Anyone in there? Classes are starting in 30 seconds."

Eduardo's eyes are dark and their expression urgent and there is nothing Mark can do but holding his breath, biting down hard on his bottom lip, while they're standing in the stall together, waiting for the teacher to disappear again. Eduardo's fingers are closed around his wrist and Mark is sure he must feel his pulse, must hear the violent beating of his heart in the small space of the cabin. They're both listening into the quietness, tense and jumpy. It's the unique character of such situations – trapped and waiting – that every smell, every touch, every feeling becomes so much stronger than usual, until it's almost too much and when the door finally closes again and footsteps are echoing through the hallway, Mark gasps for air, realising that he's trembling, trembling all over and Eduardo's too.

"Shit." Eduardo murmurs. "Shit." He drops his gaze and lets out a shaky laugh. "That was close. The old bloodhound almost caught me on Monday already. He's a bit uptight about the whole 'lingering in between classes' thing and I can't have them call my dad again, not now. He..." he stops and licks his lips, looking up at Mark again. "Nevermind. Sorry about that."

"No harm done." Mark breathes and something in Eduardo's eyes changes, just a tiny little bit, before they slowly wander to Mark's mouth and back, looking at him intently.

For a moment it's like they're back in the chapel, encased in dusty curtains and the pictures Eduardo's raspy voice was forming in the half-shadows between wood and old stones.  
It's quiet again, aside from their heavy breathing which is resounding in Mark's ears, sinking deep down into the core of his body while he stares into Eduardo's face, only inches away from his own, close enough to sense the warmth of his breath.

And he wonders what it means to Eduardo, being here like this, in the silence. Together alone. If one of them would reach out, move a bit... who knows what would happen? The thought is almost overwhelming and Mark can feel his knees going weak, can feel himself dropping against the wall, his breath speeding up and his vision blurring. 

"You..." Eduardo says, causing Mark to blink repeatedly. "Do you..." he falls silent again, watching Mark like he wished he could catch a glimpse of his thoughts, just _something_...

Images flashing in Mark's mind. _Reddened lips and opened eyes. Fingers moving over cloth, impatiently removing, finding skin underneath. Eduardo's soft moans beyond the grid. The salty taste of sweat where he presses his wrist to his mouth. His hands buried in dark hair, pulling him close, close, close. Finally..._

"Wardo..." 

It slips from Mark's lips so easily, the simple mumble of his name, spoken with what seems like the last remaining air in his lungs. It's silly. Helpless. Needy.

The grip of Eduardo's fingers looses instantly and he steps back, bewilderment in his eyes and Mark lowers his head, taking a deep breath.

"We should go back," he pants, looking as confused and out of place as Mark feels right now. "We- we can still make it in time." And when an unsure smile finally smooths his features he adds. "Sorry again."

Mark just nods, pushing himself away from the wall and following him out of the cabin.

**3.**

Mark thought it would get better.

After all, all he got to do is to avoid Eduardo.

There is only one little problem: Eduardo's doing everything but avoiding him.

No, quite the contrary, suddenly he seems to be everywhere in that stupid school. In every hallway Mark is passing on his way to class, on every bench where he's sitting down in the first mild days of the year and – of course – next to him in the line around lunch time.

And it doesn't stop there. He also waits until Mark is close enough and pushes himself away from the wall, walking him to the next classroom and chatting along the way about some people he met, about bands Mark desperately needs to listen to and about the fabulous casserole his mom makes on Sundays.

He stands by the side of Mark's bench and blinks into the sunlight, hands buried in his pockets and head tilted back, relaxing in the warmth and Mark can't help but notice the way his tie is slung loosely around his neck, how that one opened button of his shirt exposes tanned skin.

At lunch he balances his tablet, following Mark to his usual table somewhere in the back, taking a seat there like he would have done all this before, like it wouldn't be something odd and like he wouldn't be aware that everybody is staring at them.

Maybe he isn't.

Sometimes Mark thinks that Eduardo is actually that blissfully oblivious but then again, there is no way to be sure.

All he knows is that this situation, this sudden closeness is almost too much because it confronts him every fucking day with more details about Eduardo.

The slight crinkles around his nose when he doesn't like the food on his plate. The sound of his laughter when he finds one of Mark's jokes funny (he finds everything funny and it would be so much easier if his laughing wouldn't twist Mark's stomach in painful knots). His scent that is actually less of after-shave and more of Eduardo by the end of the day and yes, he smells fucking good which isn't actually very helpful to Mark in any way.

He doesn't understand.

He doesn't understand why Eduardo is doing this, if this is some sort of torture or punishment.  
Did he only imagine the tension in the toilet stall, the words in the confessional booth?  
Sometimes it feels like that but then Eduardo speaks up again and Mark just _knows_ that he could never ever forget those minutes and the images they put into his mind and it's driving him slowly insane.

So it's probably not that unexpected when he blurts out with it one day.  
They kinda had it coming.

It's been two weeks since they've been in the stall together and Mark is sitting in the library, trying to engross his mind in Galileo and Shakespeare, when steps on the soft carpet make him look up.  
Eduardo is smiling down at him, bag hanging from his shoulder and a can of Red Bull in one hand.  
However he managed to smuggle both into the library is a mystery to Mark, but he can't focus on that right now. The thing is that he is mostly here because Eduardo prefers to study in the common room with the others.

Again, in theory he just needs to avoid him.

Mark isn't too keen of the library as well, but the mere thought of going back to the chapel... if only to have some peace and quiet... no, that is just out of the question.  
So he isn't all that happy to see Eduardo again; it's confusing and frustrating and some of these emotions must be reflected on his face because Eduardo sets down the can and shrugs: "I didn't mean to interrupt you, but I know you don't think about food or drinks when you're studying, so I just thought..." he trails off, biting his lip and watching Mark.

"Thanks." Mark says tonelessly before he stares into the book on his lap again.

He wishes Eduardo would take the hint and leave but apparently that's too much to ask.

"Well..." Eduardo's still smiling, he can hear it in his voice and it's irritating.  
Why would he still be smiling, still be nice, when Mark is acting like such an asshole?

"I was talking to Mr Brown earlier and he said we can work on the book presentation together and maybe if you want to we ---"

"Why are you doing this?" Mark snaps, stopping Eduardo's rambling with the sharp sound of his voice.

It's library-silent around them and why do they always end up in such places anyway? It's always the two of them and the silence, which allows to recognise all the small changes in the way they talk (when they talk). Everything is weird, it doesn't make sense and Mark wants it to stop.

"Doing what?"

Eduardo's talking quietly now, his hands enclosing the strap of his bag while he's waiting for Mark's response.

"This." Mark's leaning back in his chair, nodding at the can, at Eduardo. "Bringing me drinks, talking about presentations, being nice." He considers this for a second. "Mostly being nice."

"I..." Eduardo shakes his head a bit and he looks young, sort of helpless. "I had no idea it's unsettling you."

"It's not."

No, it's Eduardo who's unsettling him, even more than his actions, because Mark can't understand and he isn't used to not understanding. Or to this whirl of emotions inside his chest whenever he thinks about this. No, he can't _solve_ Eduardo, not like an arithmetical problem and it's making him angry. And maybe a little bit desperate.

Eduardo's looking confused now, a soft blush covering his cheekbones: "So what's the problem then?"

"I don't know." Mark mutters, heart throbbing somewhere close to his throat. "I don't know why you're doing this."

"I just want to be friends, Mark." Eduardo whispers and it's silent again.

That is... until Mark closes his eyes and opens his mouth, once more unable to hold back something stupid and misplaced: "But why?"

And you just don't do that. You don't ask people right to their face why they want to be your friends when they're doing nothing but acting sweet and kind towards you. Not like that. As if you would accuse them of having ulterior motives...  
You just don't.

Mark knows that. And he knows that Eduardo knows.  
The question is: where do they go from here...?

Eduardo takes a deep breath: "Because..."

Mark doesn't really want to look at him again but he can't help it. He needs to know what's going on even if that means he'll end this thing they have going on for two weeks now.

"Because if I can't be your friend... I don't know what I am. I don't know what I'm supposed to do..." there is a bit of fear in Eduardo's eyes and Mark shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "It's all I can do to make this better, somehow." His voice fades away between the shelves. "Fuck, Mark. Give me a chance, at least..."

And Eduardo turns around and walks away, in quick, hasty steps like he couldn't wait to be out of the library, away from Mark.

Well... all he got to do is avoid Eduardo, right?

So why on earth does it make him feel like he's drowning...?

**4.**

"Fuck!" Mark shoves his laptop to the other side of the bed and closes his eyes.

For a few seconds the blue light of the screen is flickering behind his lids and he feels awfully tired. And maybe on the edge of a headache.  
It's Saturday and he's stopped counting how many hours he's spent with coding, research and useless websites he stumbled upon.

Normally this is working for him.  
Delving into a world made of numbers and letters, where everything makes sense because logic actually matters and the only confusing part is to come back to reality when his head is constantly sinking down because of the lack of sleep or his stomach is making too much noise for him to concentrate any longer.  
Normally.

But lately nothing has been normal and he begins to fear that things won't be like they've been before. Ever again.

He opens his eyes and stares at the screen. The half-finished line is flashing mockingly before everything blurs and with a deep sigh he shuts the lid of the laptop and listens while the sound of the ventilation fades away.

_Shit._

The slight pain behind his forehead increases with every minute and his whole body feels kinda numb. And empty.  
He had no idea he could feel like this just because...

Yeah, just because what?  
Because of the look in Eduardo's eyes before he walked away?  
Because of the empty chair next to him at lunch time for the following days?  
Because of every waking second he's spent figuring out what the hell was going on with him?

He doesn't know.  
And it's actually pretty scary not to know.

"Mark?" His mother's voice is muffled through the closed door but he can hear the clicking of her heels on the wooden floor quite clearly. "We gotta go, sweetheart. If there's anything wrong just call the Andersons, the number is on the table next to the phone."

"Sure." Mark mutters in reply, waiting for them to leave.

It's not like they haven't told him over and over again that they're going out tonight. Sometimes they seem to forget that he's not a child anymore. And not a completely helpless idiot.

"Don't stay up too long." His fathers yells from downstairs and then – finally – Mark can hear the door snapping shut and soon after that their laughter outside of his opened window while they're walking to the car.

At least somebody's happy on this unbearably slow Saturday evening.

He gets up from the bed and closes the window, wondering when it has started to rain in soft, whispering drops before he walks out of his room, ignoring the laptop on his bed for once.

It's strange to be alone in an empty house. Every step appears to resound so much louder in his ears and every now and then he feels the urge to turn around to check if somebody's behind him. Maybe he should stop watching horror movies.  
Maybe he should give up on thinking at all.

He has aimlessly wandered into the kitchen when the door bell rings and he's rolling his eyes while he puts the orange juice back into the fridge.  
It's just so damn typical for his parents to forget their keys. He's in fact pretty amazed that they never forgot about him because – admittedly – he's doing a really good job at being inconspicuous.

It's a little bit cold in the hallway and Mark wraps an arm around his chest before he answers the door, his voice more resigned than annoyed: "Don't you ever ---"

He doesn't get any further but ends up staying in the threshold, mouth slightly opened and one hand on the door handle, gaping at Eduardo.

Eduardo, who's obviously walked down here if the wet strands of hair sticking to his forehead or his dripping coat can imply anything.

His eyes are incredibly huge in the whitish light of the street lamp and he's so fucking beautiful that Mark apparently forgets that he masters the English language because he's still looking at him, some noises forming up in the back of his throat but unfortunately no word that could be appropriate right now.

"Hi." Eduardo says plain and simple, his wet eyebrows even darker against his skin. "Can you spare a minute?"

There is this part of Mark that wants to scream that he could spare a life time if only Eduardo would talk to him again.  
And then there is this other part that whispers about all the goddamn confusion Eduardo has brought into his life ever since he entered the booth and generally _existed_ with his damn soft looking skin and his ridiculous hair and his smell and...

"Yeah." Mark hears himself saying, opening the door a little wider. "Come in."

"Thanks." Eduardo's coat brushes against Mark's side when he enters the house and Mark lets it close shut, feeling somewhat numb again.

"I'm sorry, I know it's kinda late." Eduardo runs his fingers through his hair, causing little drops of rain to sprinkle the floor and Mark realises he's staring again.

Everything is dark about Eduardo at the moment. His hair, his coat, the pair of trousers he's wearing underneath. Even his mood seems to be sort of shady and this is strange because Mark's never seen him like this before.  
There is almost always a smile on Eduardo's lips, but now he presses them together like he would try very hard not to burst out with something.

"I'll try to be brief." He continues, watching the puddles of rain forming around his shoes and curses under his breath before he looks up again. "Mark?"

"I..." Mark's shaking his head, breaking away from the sight in front of him almost forcefully. "It's alright. Do you want something to drink?"

A nervous expression crosses Eduardo's face when he replies and Mark can see him swallowing: "Aren't your parents at home?"

Mark's about to shake his head for the second time when it hits him.

They are alone.

Again.

Only this time, they're not in a chapel, a toilet stall or a library. Not in the public.  
They've got a whole house to themselves and the thought shouldn't make his knees go weak but it does.

**5.**

"Right..." Eduardo murmurs, breaking the awkward silence and Mark moves closer to the next door frame, fingertips sliding over the cool wooden surface just to remind himself that this is _real_.

"I..." his tongue is flickering over his lower lip before he looks at Mark again. "I don't know. This was such a stupid idea. I... I should probably go."

"No!" Mark says sharply, his palm suddenly pressing against the frame and a rush of heat to his cheeks when he realises how loud his voice is resounding in the empty house.

Eduardo stares at him, dripping wet in the hallway between shoes and mirrors.  
He's just so... _right there_ and all that Mark knows is that he doesn't want him to leave.  
Which is confusing enough as it is.

"I mean..." he lowers both his hand and his voice, giving a shrug that's supposed to say 'I don't really care', hoping it could be at least convincing to Eduardo. "You've just arrived. And you wanted to talk."

"Yeah." The quiet reply is accompanied by a slight shudder and for the first time since Eduardo has entered the house it occurs to Mark that he must be freezing in his wet clothes.

"You..." Mark gestures at his coat and hopes his cheeks aren't still burning. "You should probably get out of this before you catch a cold. I bet your mom's casserole isn't half as good when you don't taste anything."

There is the hint of a smile on Eduardo's lips before he curls them: "So you've listened to some of my ramblings."

"Of course I did." Mark frowns, not sure if he's being mocked and Eduardo slips out of his coat, revealing long limbs in suit pants and a dark blue shirt.

On every other person Mark knows it would just look ridiculous. He's dressed like he would plan on attending a bar mitzvah at some point later on and his hair – now that it's starting to dry again – is even more fluffy and soft-looking than usual.  
But this is Eduardo.  
And Mark can't risk to stare again so he tilts back his head and gazes at the ceiling.

"Listen..." Eduardo takes a lot of time to fold his coat in the middle and put it over a chair, "What I said in the library..." little drops of water are still dripping from him when he turns around to face Mark. "I was angry. I didn't mean to..." he stops, runs a hand through his hair. "Sorry for avoiding you these last days, I just needed some time..."

"Some time?" Mark echoes, watching a dark spot on the ceiling and ignoring the funny feeling in his stomach.

"If you don't want to be my friend, that's okay." His voice is low but serious. "Mark, I know you think we don't have much in common, but I really like being around you. It would be nice to hang out and just... talk. Or do our homework. Anything, really. I just..."

"I was in the chapel." Mark blurts out, breaking away from the dark spot and fixing his gaze on Eduardo. "When you... when you made your confession. I was in the booth and I heard you and..." Eduardo's gaping at him. "... and I thought I should tell you, but I didn't know how." Mark ends a bit lamely, biting down on his lip and waiting for some sort of response.

"Wh-what?" Eduardo croaks out eventually, his fingers still entangled in his hair, the motion forgotten and his eyes wide and shocked.

"I'm sorry." Mark offers but he isn't sure if that's true.

He isn't actually sorry for hearing all those secrets, but he feels kinda bad for making Eduardo look so scared. Is that what _I'm sorry_ means?

"You were..." there is a clock ticking in the living room, louder with every second while they just watch each other in the light of the ceiling lamp. "But how? And why? Mark, I..." Eduardo's a bit pale by now. "Why didn't you say _something_?"

"You wouldn't have looked at me, ever again." Mark states flatly, realising that his cheeks have started to burn again, which is not surprising at all because his blood is pumping through his veins and rushing to his head with every word he speaks. "And I couldn't... I didn't know what to do."

Eduardo's drawing breath and furling his eyebrows when he steps into Mark's direction: "But you don't even want me to be around. You never..." something seems to cross his mind, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. "And I... fuck, Mark. You've heard _everything_? I don't even - "

"Wardo." He interrupts, heart pounding heavily against his ribs. "I just want... I want... I need to know. If you really..." if he would reach out he could touch him, that's how close he is and Mark feels goosebumps, all the way down his spine. "Were you talking about me?"

The hallway is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Eduardo's staring at him in disbelief, shaking in damp clothes and his lips are reddened from the rain and his teeth. It's all that Mark can focus on right now, when he's that near. His lips and what he's going to say when he'll speak up again.

"Yes." Eduardo whispers and Mark needs to shut his eyes for a second because it's too much, because he doesn't know what to do when Eduardo's close and his stomach is turning and his skin is feeling hot and cold at the same time.

"Mark." It's soft, almost fond and he can hear the helpless little smile in Eduardo's voice. "Mark, I called out your name for God's sake. Who do you think I was talking about? And what else am I doing here in the middle of the night in a fucking thunder-stor - "

He's cut off when Mark moves forward in one quick movement, placing a hand on Eduardo's neck and crushing their lips together. 

It's not even a real kiss. It's sloppy and inexperienced and a little bit awkward. There is the hardness of teeth under soft flesh, Eduardo's startled gasp and Mark's hot breath in his opened mouth. It's short and desperate, tasting like rain and orange juice. In some way it's perfect. But it ends when Mark becomes aware of what he's doing.

His hand slips from Eduardo's skin and he's pulling back as fast as he can, nervously licking his lower lip before he realises that this is not the right thing to do because Eduardo's eyes are glued to him and his whole body language is kinda confusing, with tense shoulders and completely still. 

For a moment Mark isn't sure if he's going to run out of the house or if he'll just stand there for the rest of the night but then Eduardo's closing the gap between them again, pressing Mark to the wall and there is actually no time to draw breath before his mouth is covered with hot lips again.

The back of Mark's head hurts a little from meeting the wall but he can't seem to bother, not with Eduardo in front of him, close to him, sucking at his bottom lip. His hands are sliding up and down Mark's sides, over the fabric of his blue t-shirt and finally underneath, nails digging into the sensitive skin of his stomach and down, down over his hipbone. 

"Wardo." Somehow his fingers have found their way into Eduardo's dark, damp thatch and he isn't in the least surprised how great it feels to bury them in there, pulling a bit harder than necessary and Eduardo responds by shoving one of his legs between Mark's thighs.

The world is blurry and wonderful behind half-closed eyes, ears filled with panting and moaning, suffocated when their lips find each other again. Mark's heart is beating hard against the cage of his ribs and he leans in closer, slides his tongue over the corner of Eduardo's mouth, begging to be let in again.

"Where's your room?" Eduardo whispers, his breath hot on Mark's cheek and his fingers even hotter under his shirt. 

He wants to say 'upstairs' but for some reason he can't form the syllables so he just turns them around and drags Eduardo along with him to the stairs, trying his best not break away from his lips for one single second.

**6.**

"So..." Eduardo gasps in between two kisses, while they stumble onto the second floor and Mark takes the opportunity to slide his hands under his shirt. "I take it... that... you like... me back?"

"Apparently." Mark snorts, busy running his fingers over every inch of skin he can find and Eduardo laughs, low in his throat but honest and happy.

"But yeah. I do." Mark adds, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, the want to kiss those laughing, smiling lips instead again warm and already awfully familiar in his stomach. "I do. I really, really do."

"Good." Eduardo says softly, wrapping his hands around Mark's waist and pulling him close enough to press the remaining air out of their lungs.

It's not really dark in Mark's room. The desk lamp is still on and there is the soft glow of the laptop's stand-by light, making him think for a second how it already seems to be ages since he was coding alone on his bed and not being pushed into the sheets with Eduardo on top of him and long, quick fingers under his t-shirt.

He looks even better with tousled hair, neatly ironed shirt riding up on his hips, revealing the tanned skin of his stomach. So every now and then Mark needs to open his eyes. When Eduardo starts kissing his throat, down to his collarbone or when he grabs a fistful of his shirt, pulling him away from the bed's edge and their lips meet again. He needs to open his eyes, if only to remind himself that this is really happening.

And he can see Eduardo's closed eyes, the way his lashes are so very dark against his skin and he can't help shivering a little in delight. It's fascinating to observe Eduardo. To make out all these little details about him while their hearts are beating fast and they never stop touching.

Mark is not an idiot or completely oblivious. He knows about kissing and – all that other stuff.  
He's read plenty of books and hey, he's a boy with internet connection. He knows everything there is to know – in theory.  
But oh, how different it is to actually _do_ these things. Well, kissing at least, because that's what they're (still) doing. Kissing and running their hands over every part of the other's body they can reach.

Eduardo is surprisingly soft in some places and excitingly hard in others.  
Mark's not sure whether this should freak him out a bit or not. It certainly is strange to be this close to somebody else, to feel that person breathing and hear him moan. It's also kinda weird to feel somebody's hard-on pressing into your thigh but on the other hand – and Mark decides to settle for this – it's really, really fantastic.

Eduardo seems to think something similar, judging by the way his fingers slide softly over Mark's fly, not quite touching, but definitely curious.

"Mark." He whispers into the crook of his neck. "I wanted to do this for such a long time..." his breath is hot and his voice already a bit husky. "I – I guess I can't believe you're letting me..."

And he moves again, covering Mark's lips with his own, easily kissing his mouth with this sort of gentle hum at the back of his throat.

Is he serious?  
Mark stops kissing back for a second (not that this would keep Eduardo from going on, his lips warm and wet and his breath fast and sweet). There is no trace of sarcasm in his voice and probably he's long-forgotten he's even said something in the first place. He seems to be the type of person that dissolves into passion, who's passionate about everything they do, so that's that.

But how can he be serious?

Yeah, Mark knows he called out his name and this is great and they're making out like horny teenagers (which is exactly what they are, right?) and that's even better, but still...

"Are you...?" Big brown eyes looking at him with concern, now that his sudden reluctance is just too obvious, lips reddened and too far away for Mark's liking. "Are you alright?" He sounds so guilty, like he'd be afraid he did something wrong. "Am I moving too fast?"

"You... no!" It's ridiculous that he even thinks he could have made him feel uncomfortable because it was Mark who kissed him, who started this whole thing without thinking, like he starts a fresh line of code. Quick. Needy. Inevitable.

"If anything you're moving too slow." Mark mutters sulkily and a faint smile spreads on Eduardo's lips.

"Come here." He breathes, his hand sliding down over Mark's chest and to his hips, touching ever so softly and making him shiver just a bit.  
In a good way of course.

**7.**

Eduardo's hands are on his bare stomach, on his arms, on his cheek, managing to be somehow everywhere, but without touching enough skin at the same time. His lips are pressed to the spot between Mark's jaw and his ear, and he's making this sort of whimpering noise every time their hips collide on the rumpled sheets.

Well, at least Mark would be able to observe and acknowledge these pieces of information if he weren't so busy moving his body upwards to meet him mid-motion. 

Somewhere along the way they've found this remarkable rhythm, a rising and lowering, shifting and stiffening, causing a wonderful friction and now it's hard to stop. Not that they _want_ to stop, by any means.

"Mark." Eduardo gasps out, his mouth now on Mark's cheekbone and then – still not quite there – on the corner of his mouth, even more breathless this time. " _Mark_..."

"God, Wardo." 

He doesn't really know why it's never his full name that's leaving his lips, when the blood is boiling in his veins and his – yeah, extraordinary – brain cells are melting into a puddle of Mountain Dew. Well, okay. Maybe exactly that's the reason, but anyway. Eduardo doesn't seem to mind, instead he clings on even tighter, the muscles in one of his legs hard against Mark's thigh. And by the way, _so not the only thing that's hard against Mark's thigh..._

And this is kinda fortunate because Mark could think of a million sentences where he'd like to bring up this nickname again. And again.

_Wardo, I really like the way your stupid hair smells..._  
Wardo, we should get you out of the rest of that suit right now.  
Wardo, would you possibly – only if you don't mind of course – maybe never leave me again...? 

There is a chance that he's going to say one of these things. There's always a chance, right?

"Mark." Eduardo chants again, before he kisses him. Deeply. Intensely. Like there is some unspoken promise in between his teeth and tongue and he tastes just the slightest bit of mint.

It has started to rain again _(or has it ever actually stopped?)_ , lazy, thick drops against the window and the window sill, whispering of summer storms to come and grey days hidden under a blanket in Eduardo's room, but that's all in the future, far away and Mark sinks into the mattress, kissing back with fingers in Eduardo's hair and his hips are pushing up and something is rising from the very depths of his stomach. 

It's burning under his fingertips and by now their rhythm is different. Faster, more desperate than before. While a part of Mark's brain registers that they're still almost completely dressed, the remaining cells are singing Eduardo's name and everything his body does is responding and touching and feeling and it's almost too much, there is this sweet, dull pain, coming with the rising of moist, white fire somewhere down below, ripping through his insides and curving his spine, making him dig his fingers into Eduardo's shoulder and neck, just a bit too deep and he's groaning, they both are; louder than the rain and so much louder than the silence in the empty house.

And then there is the moment when the heat in his belly sort of rushes everywhere, when Eduardo pushes against him once again, whimpering close to his ear, the world for a second dissolving into blissful blurring, before everything starts to take shape again.

Mark's heart is beating like crazy in his chest and he can hear Eduardo's unsteady breathing on top of him. Slowly, lazily, his brain takes over, noticing the uncomfortable way his boxers are sticking to his skin, the mess they produced and the flush on Eduardo's face when he's looking at him through dark lashes.

"Mark, I'm..." he's licking his lips, somewhat embarrassed. "Sorry about that."

He doesn't really think Mark cares about the sweatpants he's wearing right now, does he? On the other hand, it's Eduardo and he's the type of guy who cares about everything. And dresses well. Also he looks like sin, with his hair in disarray, the opened buttons on his shirt and the dark stains on his – surely – expensive suit pants. Which brings Mark back to what they just did.

"Don't be sorry." he shrugs. "The only thing _I_ 'm sorry about is that I didn't even get to touch your co-"

Before he can finish the sentence, Eduardo makes a strangled noise, leaning down and pressing their lips together one more time and it really should be illegal to taste this good...

When they break apart, Mark takes a deep breath. He doesn't even know why or how he manages to talk but somehow he's very certain that Eduardo might be the one person he could tell a lot of things. 

There is a moment of silence and then Mark can hear himself mumble: "So... does that mean there will be a next time?"

And Eduardo starts laughing, quiet at first, the back of his hand against his lips but then it gets stronger and louder, until his whole body is shaking and his eyes are closed and Mark feels like he's missing out on the joke here, or maybe _he_ is the joke but he can't help laughing with him.

The rain is pounding against the window.

"You're just so..." Eduardo says when he finally is able to talk again, voice a little husky from panting and laughing. "One moment you're so shy and sweet and the next you're saying something that throws me completely off track." He draws breath. "You're the strangest person I've ever met."

Mark frowns: "That's got to be the worst compliment ever."

Eduardo reaches out and touches one of his curls, sticking to the slowly drying sweat on his forehead as if he's trying to smooth away the wrinkle: "You're also the most wonderful person I've ever met, in case you haven't noticed." He smiles softly but there is a hint of seriousness in it. "What I said in the chapel... what I've been thinking about... in the end it all comes down to you, every single thought. You were the only thing I couldn't get out of my mind. It's always been you."

There is something like a lump in Mark's throat and he's starting to feel a little icky underneath his clothes. But still, the way Eduardo's looking at him, the way Eduardo is still here, in his _bed_... it's absolutely worth it.

"That... yes... you're not that bad yourself."

Eduardo grins, his fingers moving down to cup Mark's chin and draw him closer for another kiss: "But I think I've changed my mind about the whole 'just wanting to be friends' thing. If you don't mind."

Mark kisses back, tiredness slowly washing over him: "We could be friends that make out a lot and spend most of their time together, without dating other people." Suddenly his eyelids are heavy and Eduardo is warm next to him and he thinks he should get up and take a shower but that can wait until later. Until he's got an answer because there is still this little bit of worry in the beating of his heart. "I mean... only if you like to."

The mattress sighs when Eduardo shifts closer, his breath hot on Mark's cheek and his voice low and a bit far away, behind the curtain of sleepy blissfulness : "I'd like that very much."

While the rain changes to a drizzle and the world grows even darker, Mark closes his eyes and curls up against Eduardo's body, thinking that maybe being alone isn't as fulfilling as it seemed a few days ago. And actually: he's totally fine with that idea... 

 

**The End**


End file.
